


The Woodpecker

by TalksToSelf



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, M/M, Sam is trying to be supportive, advanced thanatology, is it called a coda when it takes place during an episode?, strip club
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 16:24:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16916277
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TalksToSelf/pseuds/TalksToSelf
Summary: Takes place during Advanced Thanatology. Sam takes Dean to a strip club... a male strip club.





	The Woodpecker

**Author's Note:**

> Posted this to tumblr but never got round to putting it here. Takes place during Advanced Thanatology.

Dean had accepted the offer of the strip club - mostly because watching Sammy squirm under a writhing, half naked woman would be hilarious and maybe if something was funny enough it might just break through the grief long enough to make Dean feel normal again for a moment.

The Clam Diver was a ridiculous name for a strip club. Dean couldn’t think of anything less sexy, if he were honest. Maybe some guys got off on the fish references? Whatever happened to the Purple Pussycat or the Pole Princess? He realised he was analysing the name for a strip club and that he was getting far too old and far too tired for it. All of it. This was a young man’s game and Dean hadn’t been young for a very long time, his body may still be (mostly) fighting fit but his soul was ancient, creaking along amongst the fresh and the vibrant people oblivious to their world.

Sam had insisted on driving the car and perhaps it was a testament to Dean’s emotional state that he let him, without complaint. It was just a car, right? A stupid, worthless heap of scrap metal that he clung to for no other reason than sentimentality. Dean closed his eyes and swayed as though drunk (which he was, but not drunk enough to warrant swaying). He knew he was in a bad way when mentally he was berating his baby. The state of the car usually said a lot about him and currently it was cluttered, in need of a clean, and being driven by someone else. When they got out of the once sacred impala, Dean blinked.

As expected, it was a dingy little one story building on the outskirts of town with flickering neon lights boasting the club’s name.  
Which was not The Clam Diver.  
It was the Woodpecker.

Dean laughed without merriment, more at the oddity, taking in the signs and the posters and shaking his head.  
“Sam, this is a male strip club.” He pointed out. Sam leaned on the hood of the car, eyeing the building with apprehension.  
“I know.” He said softly.  
“Why have you brought us to a male strip club?” Dean asked exasperatedly.  
“You know why.” Sam said again, just as he had done earlier outside their hotel - the words were heavy with a weight that meant they were discussing things they did not discuss.  
“No, I don’t. What - is this your way of coming out?” Dean questioned, raising an eyebrow. Sam sighed.  
“Nope.” He popped the p and then fell quiet, playing with the car keys. Dean looked back at Sam who was waiting patiently for the penny in the air to clatter to the ground.

Dean paused.  
Oh.

Dean pursed his lips and bowed his head, silent.  
“Look, man… I don’t know if this is the sort of place maybe you only go to once and then you’re done, no desire to go back… or if this is the sort of place you might ah… generally enjoy…” Sam’s metaphor was clumsy and awkward but Dean understood what he was being asked; was it just Cas that floated your boat or do guys in general get your motor running?

There was a time Dean would have played offended, kicked off and created a scene at the accusation. He was too tired to lie, too damn sick of hiding and fighting and if Sam wanted to drag this out of him then so be it.  
“If… if you’d still prefer the Clam Diver we can go there…” Sam continued awkwardly. Do you prefer women? Dean mentally translated.  
“Well. We’re here now.” He mumbled, voice hollow. Sam locked the car and followed Dean into the club.

Dean knew everyone eyeing them as they entered the room assumed they were a couple looking to spice things up. He didn’t care. He meandered through the crowd and to the bar, shoving a double whiskey into Sam’s hand by the time he caught up. Sam downed his in one, which wasn’t typical behaviour for him. Dean had already finished his; which was typical behaviour for him these days. He ordered each of them a beer  
“Slow down there, cowboy, or your boy there’s gonna be carrying you home.” The bartender warned, eyeing Dean cautiously.  
“Wouldn’t be the first time.” Dean shrugged, steering his brother toward a table with a view of the nearest dancer - a burly, muscular guy dressed like a lumberjack of all things.

Dean watched him absently for a while. He scanned the room, taking in the performers, the patrons, the staff. A room that was full of men and women who were attracted to men… Truth be told he knew if he put his mind to it he could probably go home with nearly anyone in the bar. He didn’t want to. What was the point? He chanced a look at Sam who, to his credit, looked no more uncomfortable than he would have at the girly bar. Sam raised his bottle.

“To Castiel.” He offered in toast. Dick move, thought Dean. Cas was pretty much in the back of his mind constantly, but to have him dragged to the forefront whilst watching a lumberjack do some pretty impressive things with a fake chainsaw was just cruel. Dean found himself though, picturing Cas not as the dancer (because that was just… awkward) but there, beside them. He knew the angel would have his eyes narrowed and his head tilted, that he would be watching the dancer and occasionally commenting on how licking a chainsaw was probably unsanitary and against health and safety regulations, and that lumberjacks traditionally wore pants when chopping down trees. Dean gave a soft, sad smile and clinked his bottle against his brother’s.  
“To Cas.” He agreed with a solemn nod.

The loud bassline of the music was in no way comforting, a constant vague sound just irritating on the shallowest levels of their consciousness. Dean wrapped his lips around the neck of the bottle and swigged.  
“So does this… does this work for you?” Sam asked, gesturing at the dancer. Butch or femme, Dean translated. Dean stared at his bottle, half tempted to deny either.  
“Truth?” He asked softly and felt his brother nod, rather than seeing it. “Sammy… nothing works for me any more. I’m kinda just… going through motions.” He admitted. Sam frowned and nodded in silent understanding. Dean stood and clapped his brother on the shoulder. "Thanks though.” He said gruffly. “For trying. I’ll see you back at the hotel.”  
“What you’re leaving?” Sam asked, confusion on his face. “What are you doing?”  
“See the college guy, with the pink bra on over his hoody?” Sam swivelled to look at the dark haired young man, part of a party, being egged on by his friends, apparently too shy to stick a dollar in the dancer’s waistband.  
“Yeah?”  
“Him.” Dean said simply.

“Dean.” Sam grabbed his sleeve and looked up at his older brother, who had the height advantage as he was on his feet. “You just came out…” Dean would argue that no, he hadn’t, but he couldn’t be bothered with the drama it would cause. “Doesn’t this feel like it should be more of a… a thing? Like… we should talk or something…”  
“Sam.” Dean knew his voice was getting lost amid the music, and didn’t want to yell. He just shook his head and walked away.

Sam sighed and returned to his beer, accidentally making eye contact with the lumberjack as he sipped. The stripper winked seductively. Sam slid slowly down in his seat and tried to make himself less visible.


End file.
